


Over Again

by slightlyunderwhelmed



Category: The Beatles
Genre: 1963, 1964, Angst, Fighting, Lots of Angst, M/M, Sad, Short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-21
Updated: 2015-09-21
Packaged: 2018-04-22 17:19:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4843793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slightlyunderwhelmed/pseuds/slightlyunderwhelmed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They stop. They fight. They make up. And then they start over again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Over Again

**Author's Note:**

> wow okay so this is really angsty, despite the fact i was listening to the yellow sub songtrack while writing. i always find that when i try to write light hearted stuff i get corrupted lmao  
> (i wrote it at about three am this morning so it's not my best work - if you notice any typos, etc, feel free to tell me)

John decides that it has to stop in 1963.

The words escape his mouth at eleven o’clock on a frosty November morning, when Paul’s half dozing where he's lying practically on top of John, despite being still kitted in his suit and tie. He just straight up says it. No warning, no explanation.

“We need to stop.”

Paul’s eyes open and he looks at John with a perfect _what the fuck_ expression on his face for a few seconds, lips slightly parted, brows drawn. Then he gets up and walks out of the room.

John doesn’t see him until that evening, in a pub around where they’ve been staying. Paul’s absolutely hammered and missing his tie and has his arm around some blonde tart. He spots John and his pretty little face goes sour, loses its contented smirk that it always gets when he’s drunk.

This is how John ends up with bruised knuckles and Paul gets a bloody nose and a split lip.  The bassist’s aim was shot to shit, what with all the booze, and John’d just seen red, and, well. The crack of Paul’s nose being punched (the same nose he was kissing last night) echoes briefly in his memory.

He remembers Paul shouting as he’s being dragged away from the brawl, red staining his teeth and his eyes alight. About how John’s a paranoid bastard and a selfish prick and a pretentious shit and fuck you, Johnny, fuck this, just _fuck you._

They don’t talk for a week after the incident. No one comments on the bruise dusted along Paul’s cheek or the swollen state of his lower lip. George and Ringo feign blissful ignorance over the crackling static that fills the room, the dirty glares, the awkward silences.

John would prefer anything over it. He’d prefer a fight, even.

That’s what he gets.

When the dam finally breaks, they’re halfway through If I Fell and John fancies he can feel the hair on his neck stand up straight with the electricity filling the room. He’s focusing on looking at Paul to keep the timing right, but the younger man won’t keep John’s gaze, eyes darting around the room, like they’re desperate to settle anywhere other than his face. Something like guilt or anger or anxiety fizzes at the base of John’s throat. He wonders briefly how George and Ringo cope with it.

They hit the last chorus when Paul’s vocal drops out very suddenly. And then, before he gets to say anything, Paul is yelling at him, near tears, guitar abandoned against the wall, eyes wet and lip trembling.

“You can’t fucking sing this, John. How fuckin’ dare you sing this fuckin’ song! How fuckin’ dare you sing it and look me in the fucking eyes while you’re doing it!”

John stays silent, stunned.

Paul’s breathless and teary and apparently beyond throwing punches. He doesn’t fight when George drags him out of the studio by the arm. John hears the sound of him crying through the door and his stomach twists uncomfortably.

Ringo makes brief eye contact with him from behind the drums. “Bloody hell.”

-

They’re fucking again in a month. And in 1964, John decides that it has to stop.


End file.
